The Spaces Between Shadows & Night

by: Silver Prophet
the combined talents of:

It had been raining for three days now, it seemed to realise how Draco was feeling on the inside and the weather mourned for him. No, there were no huge claps of thunder, nor were there any great flashes of energy as lightning danced its way back into the sky. Nothing that would have made Draco feel refreshed, energised, angered enough to continue to strut and sneer and look down his elegantly pointed nose at all the little people who weren't worth an inch of his time.

No, outside, it was bleak. The misty cloudy soup lay low over the Hogwarts grounds like smog hugged Inner-London; suffocating, weathering, miserable in its intent. It was damp and oppressing; the floors seemed endlessly wet and muddy, the appearance of house elves in their dozens could now be viewed everywhere, helping the ever-grumbling Filch mop up every drop of foreign moisture.

The sun hadn't appeared for nearly seventy-two hours, and if it weren't for the teachers and their keen sense of time, and the growls of stomachs as a sign of hunger, the students wouldn't know what time it was at all. Hogwarts was void of clocks completely, apart form the scattered amount of students who had personal alarm clocks of their own. The time-telling watches were confided to the Muggle-born population at Hogwarts, Draco as a severe loss in this department, only bearing a place-telling watch of his own.

Professor Snape had taken to rapping on all the dormitory doors of a morning by the second day, until someone answered his curt knock; the students, bleary eyed, peering outside for any sign that the wet might cease. No such relief came.

It seemed as constant as the rumours flying around concerning Harry recently. Covering everything from sleeping sickness to him dying from an incurable disease. If only they could know the truth, smirked Inner-Draco in a rather self-satisfied manner.

Violet was partly a stem of these rumours, and some of the more sneaky third year Slytherins had faked symptoms of the illness that had incapacitated most of the Hufflepuffs recently to see if they could see the Gryffindor in all his sicknesses. Unfortunately, they went near the middle of the day, while Harry was notably in Transfigurations under Professor McGonagall's watchful eye, and they were all given a sharp scolding from Madam Pomfrey for wasting her time.

Draco had occasionally gone back after his concussion, never fully admitting to the questioning nurse how he sustained the injury, complaining of a headache. Sometimes he would stay for minutes, sometimes he would stay an hour. Sometimes he would watch the moonlight flicker off the white washed walls, sometimes he would sit on one of the empty beds and watch Harry sleep, a sleep brought on by magical means. And at some stage, as soon as Madam Pomfrey was out of sight, Draco would reach over, removing Harry's glasses that were still perched on the bridge of his nose, fold up the arms of them against the glass, and lay them on his bedside table, ready for the morning.

These headaches were usually sincere however, due to the general rowdiness of the Slytherin Commonroom and the fact that many of the upper classes were letting off steam. They were confined from their thoughts and opinions around the rest of the school about the appending war and the stand of Voldemort, which the Ministry was still feverently denying at every turn.

Draco stayed away from these subjects, slipping away to his schoolwork and books. Over the past month he had discovered Muggle Literature, mainly from Alena's influence, and was now deeply emersed in The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe, which he was finding surprisingly enjoyable. Alena had laughed at him for choosing a set of 'children's books' to read, but he had simply shrugged his slender shoulders and devoured them without fear of what others thought on the matter.

He never explained to her that he had always loved the way his mother read to him when he was young, and that she would use funny voices, letting the characters leap out from the pages, into his own mind and dreams. And reading these books now gave him the sense of childhood once more, smiling up at the ceiling and his own reverent darkness above him. He loved hearing Aslan's roar, talking with fauns, and thinking that maybe, just maybe, his world would extend far enough to walking down his own wardrobe at home, and stepping out into a whole new world of his very own.

Maybe then, he wouldn't have to choose. Light or dark. Dumbledore or Voldemort.

Harry Potter or Lucius Malfoy.

~~ ~~~ ~~

Draco woke up on the fourth morning of rain uncomfortable and cramped. The fifth year dormitory had sprung a leak sometime during the night, and Greg, Vince, Daniel Worthington and himself had set to, pilling their belongings on their respective beds, placed a large bucket that Daniel had scrounged up from somewhere and fled for the warm and dripless common-room.

Draco was utterly miserable. He felt off-colour and as grey as the drizzle outside, the endlessly dull days with no comforting night-darkness to sooth him was beginning to take its toll. But it wasn't just Draco. All the students were feeling the effects, all of them used to being able to wander outside whenever the fancy took them between classes, illicit midnight strolls around the edges of the lake or the Forbidden Forest, even the feeling of sunshine through the classroom windows. Instead they were faced with near-constant rain.

Everyone wilted; meals were unusually quiet; even the usually robust Gryffindors slumped in the seats in the Great Hall, falling asleep over their plates. The sound of the rain on the enchanted ceiling overpowering any of the hushed murmurs of conversation that sprang up, fell, rose, then fell away again, half-hearted in their attempts to start to begin with.

The whole day dragged to Draco. Transfigurations was an utter bore, a difficult bore come to that. Transfigurations had never been Draco's strong point and he was even more infuriated when he saw that Potter and Granger were both successful by the third attempt to change their beetles into owls. The most Draco seemed to be able to do was get his owl half the required size...and it had feelers. McGonagall shook her hair in despair at him and then moved on.

Arithmancy would have been alright if Professor Vector hadn't split up Blaise and himself, pairing her with Hannah Abbott and himself with Granger. Most of the lesson was spent contradicting each other constantly, and by the end of it, Draco had his own personal mini storm cloud hanging over his head.

He stormed into Potions with the fierce intent to hex the first person who spoke to him in a less that respectful manner, and considering who his partner was, it would be sooner rather than later. He slammed himself into the seat next to Potter, who didn't even flinch.

If Draco had even remotely thought previously that he was off-colour today, faint shadows under his grey eyes, his hair loosing its place around the edges, fringe swinging in his eyes, stiff and sore from sleeping awkwardly on a couch; he had nothing on Harry.

The bags under his eyes were threatening to overtake his pale and thin face, he looked tired and weak, head slumped against the desk, hunched up, from lines etching their way all over his face, hair falling limply into his bleary eyes. Draco felt a faint pang of sympathy.

"You look like shit Potter." Draco always did know how to dish out sympathy, smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes, choosing not to speak, but simply scribbling something down on a piece of paper and sliding it across the desk towards Draco. Four words were betrayed there.

Draco chuckled, delighted with this new take on things.

"Really? You don't say?" Harry gave him the evil eye. "It was working in Transfigurations thought. Are you sure it's really gone?"

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow as he deciphered Harry's messy scrawl and smirked openly.

"I'll bet. Up-point for me though, Potter. This way I can hassle you all I want and you can't say a thing against me."

"Not a chance!" Draco grinned mischievously, mentally rubbing his hands together with glee.

Snape strode into the classroom a second later; banging the door shut and stared menacingly down as the all. But before he could say anything, Harry raised his hand. This practice alone was distinctly unheard of in the Potions classroom, unless of course, you were a Slytherin, because Snape would never call on the people who raised their hands.

Hence why Hermione never got to answer any questions, because Snape was sure to pick on the students (excluding his own house) who was sure to not know the answer. Not that he needed a solid excuse to try and help the other houses (especially Gryffindor) from failing to win the house cup. It was a vicious and predictable cycle, and one that most students were utterly comfortable with, especially with Harry and Hermione in their class, Snape's favourites for picking on.

"Mister Potter?" Snape sounded vaguely startled. Harry brandished a note from one of his inner pockets and held it adrift. Snape snatched it from him, looking suspiciously at the black-haired teen. The entire class held their breaths as Snape read the note, before looking up at Harry and smirking.

"Cat finally got your tongue, Potter? Well, at lease the rest of the class will be spared the sound of your voice today." Harry rolled his eyes. "The rest of you, on with your practical potions. Remember there is to be no use of your texts today. If you don't get it right now, then you probably never will." he turned back to Harry with a sneer. "Mister Potter, don't let this...disability hold Mister Malfoy up."

Granger stood by Harry's elbow a second later, Alena hovering behind her, curiosity written all over all face. Hermione, on the other hand, looked plain out worried.

"He's just lost his voice, Granger, it's not life threatening." Draco jumped in before the witch could say anything. Alena raised her eyebrow at him, while Granger stared.

"Harry?" she asked sympathetically, turning her gaze back to her best friend.

He nodded at her, before waving his hand to shoo her away, not wishing Snape to find any reason to take points off Gryffindor, especially for socialising. He slid out of his seat and turned to Draco, pointing to the ingredient storeroom. Draco nodded, understanding his meaning.

"I'll set up here."

The class was soon deeply into the potions, Harry and Draco working like polished glass together, efficiently and with complete competency. Harry chopped, diced, ground and measured their ingredients with a steady hand, Draco mixing and stirring with flair and perfect timing. They seemed to be able to communicate silently; Harry because he had to, Draco out of a growing trust about his partners' ability. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone and let them live to tell the tale.

They were a pleasure to watch.

The few times that they did need to communicate, they scribbled notes to each other on some spare parchment that was slid along the desk between the two.

Draco hadn't had this much fun in a long, long while.

~~ ~~~ ~~

That night, Draco was sitting on one of the third level windowsills still chuckling over his 'paper fight' with Harry. He lent his head back against the wall of the ledge and sighed from deep inside himself, the rain battering the window effortlessly.

Draco felt content. And the feeling was surprisingly agreeable.

Despite the weather, the uneasy sleeping, the constant damp chill hanging over the dungeons, despite McGonagall in Transfigurations and Granger in Arithmancy, Draco felt good.

And all because of a seemingly meaningless 'paper fight' right under Snape's nose. With Potter. Of all people, sighed Inner-Draco, before retreating again. Draco couldn't understand himself sometimes...he was never 'silly' - well, at least, never on purpose - and yet, sit him with Potter for five minutes and he was play fighting and goofing around. And enjoying it! He chuckled to himself and was just starting to unfurl his lengthening limps to retreat back to the dungeons and his bed when a figure stumbled blindly around the corner farthest from him and into the opposing wall.

Draco leapt to his feet defensive, drawing his wand reflexively, when he realised who it was.

"Potter!" he growled loudly, striding quickly to the raven-haired boys' side. Harry was supporting himself weakly against the wall, one hand clapped on the bricks in front of him, keeping his balance, one hand clenched onto his forehead. And his scar, thought Draco insanely.

"Potter, are you okay?" Draco reminded himself to stay calm, to stay cool, focused; his voice low and level.

Harry shook his head pitifully, wincing from the movement.

"Where are you going?" Draco did a fast mental map of the corridors. "The Infirmary's that way." He pointed vainlessly, the way that the boy had stumbled from. Harry shook his head again, his eyes desperately trying to convey his meaning to Draco.

"Potter, you need to go to the Infirmary. You can barely stand." Reasoned Draco, fumbling his fingertips on Harry's sharp elbow.

Harry fixed a stare into Draco's confused eyes and slowly lifted his hand away from his head, sweeping the fringe away with its movement. Draco gasped before he could stop himself.

The lightning bolt scar was raised off Harry's skin angrily, pulsing and fiery red. It burned under Draco's fleeting sweep on his fingertips across it and Harry flinched visible.

Draco suddenly understood.

"Dumbledore." An urgent nod was his reply.

He swept his hand around Harry's slender waist without even thinking about it first, supporting as much of Harry's weight as he could without crashing to the ground himself. Despite his slenderness, Harry was still a dead weight from the pain crippling his senses to Draco. The two figures sloped up stairs and down corridors as quickly as they could manage. Draco spent most of this time muttering silently about how to handle the situation of him and Harry in front of Dumbledore. He was also worrying about the pain sparking across Harry's face whenever he was jolted too hard, and wondering how the hell Potter had made it from the Gryffindor Tower to where he had been sitting on the third floor without kneeling over.

They reached the gargoyle and Draco gasped "Sugar Quills."

Dumbledore had always informed the Prefects of any password changes, and the Prefects had a running book on what sweet the Headmaster would choose next. Draco rang the warning bell to announce their arrival, guiding Harry onto the moving staircase in front of him at the same time, his arm firmly around his waist keeping him upright.

Dumbledore was looking out of his office door worriedly when the two boys came into sight at the top, a dark blue dressing robe wrapped firmly around him, beard tucked away in the sash. "Harry? Draco? Come in, come in!"

They were bustled in and Dumbledore conjured up a teapot as Draco began to explain with a rush.

"I ran into him on the third floor, Professor, and tried to get him to the Infirmary, but he made it absolutely clear that he needed to see you. Well, as clear as he could Professor, considering he can't talk." Draco sank into a chair thankfully, worn out from the efforts to get Harry up here.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey informed me of that, thank you Draco. Harry?" Dumbledore moved his concerned gaze over to him.

Harry lifted his hand away from his scar again, eyes pleading and in pain.

Dumbledore looked grim. "Voldemort?"

Harry nodded, casting a worried glance at Draco, one that did not go unnoticed by the Slytherin.

"I should probably go." Draco hesitantly made a move to stand. Harry reached out quickly and halted his progress, shaking his head decisively, pulling him back into his seat.

Dumbledore poured them some tea and passed the cups around, Draco sipping gratefully and feeling a spreading warmth trickle through his body, calming him wound-up emotions.

"Can you write it down, Harry?" A nod. "Very well."

Paper and ink, as well as a fine feather quill, were produced. Draco leaned forward to read what Harry was scribbling.

Draco's blood ran cold at the sight of his father's name.

Dumbledore sighed. "Jefferson. Ally Jefferson. I was so looking forward to having her here at Hogwarts next year."

Harry looked shaken, his hands shivering violently against the arm of his chair, the cold reality sinking in through his face, tightening every muscle in his body. My father, thought Draco dumbly, my father was involved in...his stomach churned and he felt bile rising in his throat.

"Thank you for coming straight to me Harry," Dumbledore was taking charge again. "I think it would probably be best if you went straight to the hospital wing and stayed under Madam Pomfrey's excellent care for the time being. At least until you recover your voice at least."

He focused on Draco, who was in the process of turning a faint green colour. "You had best stay there too, Mister Malfoy. Don't bother with your classes tomorrow, I'll inform both your Professors of your absences accordingly. Stay over the weekend if you feel the need." He snapped his fingers and a folded piece of paper appeared, holding it out to Draco who took it gingerly. "Give this to Poppy. A portkey would probably be best at the moment."

Dumbledore waved his wand and the fine feather quill in front of Harry glowed for a moment. Draco felt Harry's shaky, papery hand close over his arm and grip it tightly before hearing Dumbledore's "Sleep well boys." and then the familiar tug just below his navel gripped him and they were swept away.

~~ ~~~ ~~

Madam Pomfrey, as usual, fussed around the two boys efficiently. Pyjamas were thrust into their hands and curtains drawn around two beds, after reading Dumbledore's crisp note, produced soundlessly by Draco.

Draco had fought his nausea long enough to put on a brave and haughty face on for the nurse, but he didn't suspect that she was fooled by it for one single second. She clipped off to fetch some Dreamless Sleep Potion for them both, as well as a Stomach Calming Draught for Draco, leaving the two boys to change and crawl into bed.

She returned with the potions, some parchments, ink and a bell, these last three items all for Harry to communicate, and the bell to attract attention. They settled down as the lights dimmed in retreat of Pomfrey, leaving Harry and Draco alone at last.

Harry scribbled something on the parchment and passed it across the gap in their beds, the drawn curtains masking them from the outside world.

Draco shrugged. "Not really."

"You did the right thing." Draco smiled ironically. "I'm not sure why it shocked me as much as it did really."

"What about you? How are you feeling? You could barely stand for a while there."

"What's with that scar anyway? It was all...red and angry."

"It looked it. Why are you tell me all of this though?"

Draco shrugged, shaking on the inside. He read over Harry's observations again. "Why didn't any of you Gryffindor buddies get you to Dumbledore?"

"Why is that? The Weasel finally get sick of being the side kick?"

"The Weasel is jealous then?"

"Has he got anything to be jealous of, Potter? Have you and Granger finally taken the step beyond 'just friends'?

"I'm sure the Weasel would be more than happy to."

Draco snorted. "I can't see anything getting between Granger and her studies." Harry nodded emphatically in agreement.

They lay back on their pillows, before a thought niggled in at Draco's concentration. "It seems weird, Potter, not hearing your voice." Trying to be nonchalant.

"What's that?" Draco traced his last name and feverently wished he could scratch it out forever. Blot it, and tonight, from his memory.

Draco was shocked, turning onto his side to face Harry, watching as three teardrops escaped the edge of his eye and trailed a silvery thread down to the hollow behind his ear and onto the pillow.

And he remained lying on his side, watching the Sleeping Potion kick in and the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest, before leaning over and removing the glasses perched on his nose, just as he had done many times before, before letting the potion and sleep swallow him up.

~~ ~~~ ~~

When Draco woke, uneasily, the next morning, he had to take several moments to realise where he actually was. Harry was still sleeping soundless, enchanted or naturally, he was simply exhausted, the sheet rising and falling with even breath. Draco felt sluggish on waking, his mind slow, swinging his legs out of bed to head to the bathroom, trying to push the sleep away. Sunlight flooded the ward closed out by the hospital issue curtains surrounding their beds and Draco stumbled to the window, peering with blinking eyes out into the cool autumn air.

The rain had finally stopped.

~~ ~~~ ~~

A week later, the castle was abuzz with Halloween fever, relishing in their freedom of being able to go outdoors once again. It had been one of the hardest weeks of Draco's life just trying to act like nothing was wrong with him. Last week, he had spent the Friday in the Infirmary trying to sort out the pieces of his world, talking to the voiceless Harry when he was awake, occasionally watching his as he dozed through restless sleep, almost captivated by the silent torture creasing his face. On Saturday, he had written a letter to his mother, unable to face 'Dear Father', requesting to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.

The thought of his mother had always soothed him like no other. And now, it was Halloween afternoon, and he and Blaise strode up and down the Slytherin table, lighting the Jack-O-Lanterns and spooky shaped candles, levitating them to add a ghostly glow to the up-coming feast. Two sixth year prefects attended the Hufflepuff table, while the Ravenclaw Seeker Cho handled her table alone. Granger and Katie Bell were doing the honours of the Gryffindor table with much laughter, and Draco could swear that his sensitive hearing had picked up his name being mentioned several times. The side door crashed open and Draco threw out a greeting.

"Hey Alena!" The black-haired girl glared at him, her expression full of anger and sorrow.

"What's wrong?" asked Blaise distractedly, squabbling with one of the more talkative Jack-O-Lanterns that was rudely informing her that he did not want to be levitated, thank you very much, and she could just keep her wand to herself. She was threatening to set fire to him if he didn't co-operate...Blaise knew how to get her way.

"My mother had decided to visit the American side of the family for Christmas, so now, unfortunately, I'm stuck here." Alena thumped down on the long seat and rested her chin on her up-turned wrists.

"Why can't you go with her?" Draco asked, confused. This was the first time that he had heard of Alena's 'Americans'.

"Because Great-Aunt Katherine will be there, and Great-Aunt Katherine 'disapproves' of me." Alena rolled her eyes. "And that's nothing compared to Uncle Philip, who just plain out hates me. He thinks I'm too 'outspoken'."

"You're not outspoken."

"Maybe not compared to you Draco, but to them, I am. They're a much of American snobs...left-wing, blander than the Kansas plains, and that's saying something." She pulled a face. "I can't think of anything worse. They are the American answer to Chinese Water-Torture...and my cousins are all walking nightmares."

"So you're stuck her for Christmas." observed Draco nonchalantly.

"Yep." Alena replied, still looking glum.

"With a bunch of Gryffindorks." Potter's staying, he added to himself silently. Potter always stays.

"Looks that way."

Draco sighed dramatically, exchanging a mock evil glance with Blaise, lighting the candle in front of him with an impressive flick of his wrist. "It's a good think I'm staying as well then, isn't it, otherwise we'd come back to find you converted!"

Alena's head shot up, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Really? Truly?" Draco shrugged, grinning at his friend.

"You're not just pulling my leg?"

"Now would I do a thing like that?" queried Draco, an innocent look on his face.

Blaise and Alena both nodded. "Yes!"

The hall rang with Draco's laughter.

His laughter was interrupted by the sound of the Great Hall doors being swung open and Granger's delighted voice, breaking through everything. "Harry! You're back!"

The three Slytherins turned and watched with morbid fascination as Granger hugged her best friend fiercely. Harry smiled at the girl warmth and said something in low tones to her, and a few moments later, she nodded her assent, turning to tell Katie Bell to continue without her, and together, they turned and walked over to the Slytherin table. Cho's eyes followed them suspiciously and Inner-Draco pipped up for the first time in a week, if looks could kill. Draco shuddered all over, feeling his skin crawl away.

Alena smiled at the pain, her usual sunny disposition returned at Draco's admission and 'company'. "Hi Hermione, Harry."

Alena was practically the only Slytherin who could get away with calling Gryffindors by their first names, after flattening a seventh year who had the audacity to tell her that she couldn´t some time last year. She was now tagged an untrue Slytherin, and therefore left well alone. She didn't give a toss about it either.

"Hi Alena," replied Hermione, Harry nodding to the girl by way of greeting.

"Hey Malfoy," Harry's voice sounded hoarse and cracked, but at least it was there. "Snape told me that we've got some kind of mid-term assignment due and that you had the details."

"Mmm. But I don't have it with me. I'll give it to you later." Draco busied himself with the candles, not looking at Harry at all.

"Sure. No hurry." A sudden coughing fit overtook him suddenly and he sank on to the Slytherin bench, Hermione rubbing his back gently.

"That does not sound healthy." commented Blaise, moving further and further down the table.

"Are you okay?" asked Hermione, quietly concerned.

Harry nodded, the coughs clearing away. He sat back, rubbing his hand over his chest trying to relieve the dull ache in his lungs. He looked around suspiciously. "So this is how the other half lives."

"What do you mean?" Draco spoke sharply, earning a glare from Alena.

"Well, sitting here...at the Slytherin table." Harry sounded vague, looking around him still.

"Enemy territory." grinned Alena.

"Almost wasn't though, that's the scary bit."

"Huh?"

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin."

Draco turned roughly, his attention caught. "Excuse me, Potter, did I just hear you correctly? The Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin...and you turned it down? Why?"

"Yeah, it said something about great ambition. But I guess I didn't really fancy being in the same house as the guy who killed my parents was in." Draco stared at him incredulously. "I didn't really know anything about the houses before I came, so I took everything pretty much as face value. Plus," Harry raised his eyebrow at him. "You certainly influenced my views on the Slytherin house, and trust me, none of them were very nice."

Draco scowled, turning away with a muttered, "Mad. Completely barmy."

"So are you two going home for Christmas?" queried Alena.

"Nope. Nothing to go home to." smiled Hermione. "My parents have decided to escape the winter and go to the Greek Islands. Dad's having his third mid-life crisis so I have opted to stay here rather than face Dad in leather on a motorcycle." she shuddered visibly.

"And will probably spend the entire time studying." Hermione punched her best friend lightly on the shoulder in retaliation.

"And you, Harry?"

"Staying," he said with a shrug. "As usual."

Alena didn't press the point. "Well, so am I."

"And I," added Draco delicately, before tacking the conversation suddenly elsewhere. "And the Weasel?"

Harry shrugged and Hermione sighed, deeply. "Going."

"What!?" Harry stared at her. "How do you know?"

"He told me so himself, yesterday. They're all going, including Bill. Molly's insistence."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Who else is staying?"

"Just us so far. All the other Year Fives are going, and so far, no one from the lower years have signed up to stay. Alicia's not sure whether or not she's staying or going, but the general consensus is that practically the entire house is heading home. It'll be weird, just you and me for Christmas."

Harry looked shell-shocked, resting his elbows on the table, eyes confused behind his glasses.

Alena watched him carefully before trying to lighten the mood. "Oh well, all the more food for all of us," she said brightly. "A snowball fight or two, lounging in front of the fire, sleeping in-"

"Oh, don't mention sleep, please!" groaned Harry jokingly. "I've had more sleep over the past week than I ever thought possible. And if I end up back in the Infirmary and time soon I will go crazy."

"You're already crazy as far as I can tell, Potter. And I'll give you until the next Quidditch game to be seeing the Infirmary again." Draco finished with the candles, and sat down a few feet away from Harry, still not fulling facing him.

"Don't jinx me! I've managed this long without sustaining any injuries, I don't want to break my good record just yet!"

Draco smirked openly. "Your record's hardly good with all your illicit midnight strolls." Draco suddenly realised he'd stuck his foot right in there when he took in the despair on Harry's face, the calculating look on Alena's and the seriousness of Hermione's tone.

"Harry! What is Malfoy talking about? What midnight strolls?"

"Nothing Hermi, it's nothing." he soothed her, before glaring at Draco venomously. "Malfoy doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Harry!" she stamped her foot and folded her arms and opened her mouth...and nothing came out.

They all stared at her, her mouth working furiously. She spun and glared at Draco, silently accusing him.

Draco held up his hands. "As much as I wish I could take the credit for this...it wasn't me!"

"Nope, it was me," Blaise appeared next to Hermione. "Remember Granger, no tantrums at the dinner table."

Harry started to laugh loudly, while Draco sniggered quietly. Hermione glared at them both.

"You know, I never realised just how useful a silencing spell could be," laughed Alena, while Hermione began to make your point across about just what she was going to do with them all in a minute if they didn't stop laughing, voice or no voice. "It'd make it damn-near impossible to cheat at Charades."

Hermione caught on, playing along. She folded her hands together and then flattened them back out.

"Book." giggled Alena, burying her face in her hands, laughing mirthlessly.

"Hogwarts, A History!" cried Harry through his fits of laughter, earning him a smack around the head.

Draco, on the other hand, flinched, seeing something that the others hadn't as yet.

A sarcastic cough sounded behind the two Gryffindors and they both turned to see a fiercely angry Ronald Weasley.

"What, pray tell," the redhead ground out through clenched teeth. "Are you both doing? With them? At the Slytherin table?"

Hermione's face had fallen, but Harry simply shrugged, nonplussed. "Playing Charades."

Ron went from crimson, to volcanic red in three seconds flat. "Playing Charades! Have you gone completely mad?! he stared at them both, disbelievingly.

"No. I am perfectly sane, but thankyou for your concern, Ron." Harry stated coolly.

Ron's eyes went impossibly wide. "But...but...that's Malfoy, Harry!"

"Don't mind me Weasley, just continue to pretend I'm not here." Draco drawled, earning him a death glare that made a fly fall out of the air in front of his face. I've heard of looks that could kill, but this is ridiculous, smirked Inner-Draco.

"Don't worry, I will," sneered Ron, before turning his look of disgust back to Harry. "You mean to say that you would rather sit over here with a bunch of Slytherins," he spat it out like a dirty word. "And play Charades than sit at your own table?"

"Actually, I only came over here to get my Potions assignment off Draco and we all just got chatting."

"Draco...chatting...Draco?! Since when do you call Malfoy, Draco?!" Ron spat is disbelief.

Harry folded his arms and stared up at him defiantly. "Since about two minutes ago, when my so-called best friend decided to start behaving like a completely childish prat!"

Hermione's mouth was working furiously, talking so fast that Draco couldn't actually make out when she was saying. He got the general gist of it thought, still reeling from Harry using his given name.

"Me? Acting like a prat? What about you? You and Hermione have just completely shut me out."

Harry's temper built. "Now hold on a second. Hermione and I have been doing no such thing. You're the one who will insist on seeing things that just aren't there!"

"Don't lie to me Harry, it's obvious."

"I'm not lying to you goddamn it!" Harry's fist slammed into the table, making them all jump. "Best friends don't lie to each other. And what's more, how long ago did you decide to go home for Christmas, huh?"

Ron looked uncomfortable. "About a week."

"And you just forgot to mention it to me, is that it?" Draco could tell Harry was getting more and more worked up with every passing moment.

"You were in the hospital wing." Ron weakened.

"You could have visited. In fact, now that I think about it, you didn't visit me once while I was in there!"

"I was busy..."

"With?"

"Homework." Ron was shrinking visibly.

"Oh, don't you dare give me that crap Ron, you know as well as I so that any excuse to get you out of homework will do. In fact, it occurs to me," Harry stood up slowly, glaring Ron down. "That you really don't give a crap about our friendship anymore."

"I don't give a crap? I don't give a crap?" Ron was firing up again. "You're the one who is keeping things from me. Sitting with Slytherins. You didn't tell me anything about your summer, or-"

He was suddenly cut off by Harry's low, angry voice.

"That's. Because. You. Never. Asked." Ron faltered, starting into the depths of Harry's livid face and blazing eyes.

"You want to know what happened to me over the summer, Ron? Really want to know?" his voice was deathly quiet, yet all around him, they could hear his every word. "I spend two months locked in my cupboard. I was having nightmares practically every night, and when I was awake I would have splitting headaches. I lived the night of the Third Task over and over again, but I think what was possibly worse was having to watch you, Hermione, Ginny, Siri...captured, tortured, killed."

Hermione had tears running down her cheeks. And still he continued.

"I relieved my parents deaths, Cedric's death...the Re-Birthing, the duel. You name it...I ran through it a million times over in my mind. Over and over. So that's it, Ron. That was my summer. That's the thing I find hard talking about even now, that's why I'm so afraid to close my eyes at night, that's why I've been spending every second night in the Infirmary getting Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey just so I could rest. But even the potions doesn't stop the visions from coming...and where have you been the last four times I've woken in so much pain that I actually lost my voice from screaming, where were you then?"

Alena's head was buried in her arms. And still he continued.

"I'll tell you where. You were tucked up, nice and safe in your comfortable sleep with your happy dreams and thinking that I had deserted you when nothing could have been further from the truth. You deserted me...when I needed someone to understand me the most, when I needed someone who wouldn't just turn away. And that was precisely what you did. If you feel like we've shut you out, fine, but we are not solely to blame. You have done your best to ruin our friendship, mine and yours, Hermione's and mine, just because you're jealous."

Draco was trembling so hard he thought he heard his heart break. And still he continued.

"But you know what? I am this close to simply giving up on you, because I have tried everything that I can. Everything. And," Harry's voice faltered a little here. "I'm just sorry that it wasn't enough. I'm sorry that I waited this long for...actually, I'm not sure what I was waiting for. I think I was just waiting." He cast a blank look around at the Slytherin's, his eyes ending up fixed with Draco's, before turning back to Ron.

"You think I'm crazy for trying to make friends with a bunch of Slytherins, and maybe I am. But anything is better than fighting over feuds that no one remembers where they started from, anything is better than hatred and petty wars." He looked back to Draco. "Anything is better than facing the other down from the other side of the war zone when we were never really that different to begin with."

He turned to Ron again, whose face crumpled under the cold reality on Harry's face. "I'm sorry that I wasn't enough, Ron, but I'm only human...I only have so many hands to hold on to people. I'm sorry that I may have lost my grip on you sometime in the past and couldn't grab you back." His voice fell away bleakly. "I'm sorry."

Harry strode off, breaking into a half-run just before the hall doors, slamming out of them forcefully. Hermione looked beyond furious.

Blaise muttered the counter curse just loud enough for Hermione to hear it. She stepped forward, her hand meeting the side of Ron's face with a crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a whip. He stumbled backwards from the force of the blow, raising his hand reflexively to his cheek, open-mouthed.

"I hope you're bloody well satisfied Ronald Alan Weasley, because you didn't just manage to loose Harry's friendship today, you also just lost mine. Because I am sick to death of being treated like some prize to be fought over and won, some trophy at the end of your rainbow. I could no less date you than I could Harry...your friendships were worth too much to me to loose them to romance, and I thought until recently, that you felt the same. Obviously I was wrong, and I now stand corrected."

Alena hurried out of her seat and around the table and as she passed Draco by, she whispered in his ear, "Find him." A second later, she was next to Hermione and beginning to guide her away. "Come on Hermione, let's go for a walk by the lake for a while, I think I'm in need of some fresh air, what about you?"

Hermione nodded weakly and allowed herself to be steered away gently by the black-haired girl.

Draco allowed himself to look Weasley up and down in a very manner-of-fact way and sneered. "And they call me the heartless bastard," He turned to Blaise. "Blaise, are you alright to finish on your own? I've just remembered something I need to do."

Blaise waved him away, and after shooting another glare at Ron, he walked proudly from the room. As soon as the doors of the Great Hall shut behind him, Draco broke into a full force run, his mind working overtime. If I were an upset Potter, where would I go?

He leapt up the stairs, ignoring the puzzled looks of students who passed him, and headed straight for the third floor. He found Harry hunched up on the windowsill on the third floor, looking like he was trying to hide from the world. Draco slowed to a walk at the sight of him and let the relief flood through him.

"Quite a little dramatic scene you put on there, Potter." Draco's voice held no malice, a hint of concern in its edges. He stood just behind Harry, leaning lightly on the wall next to the shrunken in sill.

Harry shrugged. "S'pose so."

"No, trust me, it was," Draco drummed his fingers against the stone. "We're not friends, Potter."

"I know that, Malfoy."

"You can't save me, Potter."

"Wasn´t trying to," Harry stared out the window blindly, training his eyes on the figures of Hermione and Alena far below him walking towards the lake. "But I think you saved me."

Draco was dumbfounded. He folded himself up on the other half of the sill before he could crumple to the ground completely, Harry obediently tucking his legs under his own body, still looking out into the horizon.

"I'm sorry," the words were whispered, shadowed by the winds and tension. "For never letting myself see the real you. For not getting to know you at the beginning."

~~ ~~~ ~~
TBC
~~ ~~~ ~~